


Crunching the Numbers

by thekingslover



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Fade to Black, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Requited Love, accountant nicky, advertising agency, designer joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29334786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: While trying to survive a hostile work environment under their boss, Steven Merrick, accountant Nicky crushes on Joe, the ace designer of their advertising agency. When Nicky gets the chance to actually talk to Joe, he slowly realizes his crush might not be one-sided as he thought.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 132
Kudos: 484





	1. He Knows My Name

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my nickyjoe tumblr sideblog, monicashipsnicky. Main blog is thekingslover.
> 
> There will probably be around 6-7 chapters total.

At the sound of a laugh – boisterous and jovial – Nicky’s fingers still on the keyboard. A hundred n’s cross his screen before he notices he’s still holding down the key. He curses softly, careful to be quiet even in his self-anger.

The laughter continues, undisturbed.

Nicky lifts his hands from the keyboard and places them on the edge of his desk. Slowly, carefully, he presses back in his chair. The wheels nudge precious inches, enough, just enough, to see around the wall of cubicle.

The water cooler stands as a social oasis at the edge of the hallway between the administration people in cubicles and the ‘talent’ in the set of offices beyond. Beside it, Joe leans against the wall, paper cup in hand, smile wide as the last throes of laughter shake through him.

He’s as tall as Nicky, not as broad but more muscled, yet he curls up like a child when he laughs, shoulders shrinking inwards. He hides his smile behind the cup before he downs the water inside.

“It was a pleasure,” he says to whoever he’s talking to. Nicky’s heart flutters in his chest. Someday, maybe, Joe will say those words to him. “As always.”

Foolish, Nicky condemns himself, to be daydreaming about a co-worker when there is a sea of n’s to be deleted. A co-worker he’s spoken to exactly once, when Joe was coming out of the bathroom and Nicky was going in. Joe held open the door for him.

“Grazie,” Nicky said.

“Prego.” Eyes glued to his phone, Joe didn’t even look up.

Nicky holds down ‘backspace’ and deletes all the n’s, even the one he needs, and a few letters besides. He curses again, louder, as Joe’s voice disappears toward the offices.

*

The copier, Nicky decides as he tugs at the spreadsheet that juts half-in half-out of the output tray, deserves its own special circle in hell. When he pulls too hard and rips his spreadsheet in two, he’s about to send it there himself.

He subdues his anger only by the constant awareness of the opened door beside the copier, and the office beyond. Of Joe, sitting at his desk, back to the hallway, looking between three different monitors. He’s entirely engrossed, and good at what he does. The star of the agency, Joe has designed and sold more advertisements than the rest of talent pool combined. Nicky knows; crunching the numbers is _his_ job.

Yet with that big office comes pressure, personified no doubt, by their boss, Steven Merrick, who, despite his short and slim stature, walks with the unearned towering confidence of a man born with everything.

He points at Nicky. “Break that copier, and it’s out of your pay.”

“Yes, Mr. Merrick,” Nicky replies, but Merrick has already moved on, into Joe’s office.

“Where are we on the Pharmaceutical ad?” Merrick asks from inside, in the same sharp tone.

“Getting closer –”

“That’s not good enough.”

Nicky tries not to listen. He lifts the lid of the tray and sees the other half of his report buried beneath the rollers. He won’t be able to reach it with his fingers. Fortunately he brought a pencil.

“The timeline gives me another week,” Joe says.

“The timeline? Do you hear yourself?”

The pencil is long enough to tap the edge of the paper, but Nicky’s only succeeding in jabbing it in further. He has half a mind to leave it there – Merrick would have to actually learn his name to find his paycheck - but he’d hate for this to be left for the next person.

“Is that all we strive for here? Mediocrity?” Merrick’s voice lifts, shrill near the end. “Don’t we strive for excellence, Mr. al-Kaysani? Don’t we want to be better than average?”

“It was an agreed upon date.” Joe’s voice is smaller than Nicky’s ever heard it, barely a shadow of the booming happiness at the water cooler. Nicky’s nerves itch. He brings the pencil out too fast. It catches in the rollers and snaps. The eraser end clinks and clatters down into the bowels of the machine.

“We dazzle our clients here,” Merrick says. “We don’t just meet their expectations, we exceed them. I would have hoped you learned that by now.”

When Joe speaks again, it is a defeated whisper that Nicky strains to hear. “Yes, sir.”

Merrick appears in the hallway again. He doesn’t so much as glance at Nicky as he struts down the hall toward the executive elevator. His office is on the floor above.

Nicky scribbles ‘out of order’ on the back of his shredded spreadsheet with his broken pencil and sticks it on top of the copier.

In his office, Joe holds his face in his hands. Elbows on his knees, he’s slumped forward on the chair. With the blinds drawn, it’s far too dark in the room.

Nicky should mind his own business. He should go back to his cubicle and call the copier technician. And he will. He will.

After.

He steps into Joe’s doorway. “He’s posturing.”

“What?” Joe looks through his fingers before lowering his hands. The bags beneath his eyes catch shadows.

“He’s intimidated by your success,” Nicky says. “He knows you are better than him. Better than this place.” He waves his hand toward the door, toward the damn copier that juts out, taunting him even from here. “He’s trying to keep you down so you won’t want to leave.”

Joe leans back in his chair. The light from the hallway catches his face, brightening it, and while he’s not the sunshine from the water cooler, he’s no longer the pit of despair. “You think so?”

At Nicky’s nod, Joe starts to smile. It’s a soft, fragile thing that has Nicky’s heart swelling, too big for his chest.

Nicky turns toward the door.

“Grazie, Nicky,” Joe says behind him.

Nicky pauses.

“Prego.”

Nicky walks past the copier, past the water cooler, and into his cubicle. He sits down, stares at the blank computer screen, and wonders, when did Joe learn his name?


	2. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something’s different.
> 
> Nicky can’t place his finger on what, exactly. At least, not at first. But when he finishes his usual morning work with twenty minutes to spare until lunch, he knows. He’s had no interruptions today. No mistakes born of distraction that he’s learned to allot time to correct.
> 
> Joe has not been to the water cooler.

Something’s different.

Nicky can’t place his finger on what, exactly. At least, not at first. But when he finishes his usual morning work with twenty minutes to spare until lunch, he knows. He’s had no interruptions today. No mistakes born of distraction that he’s learned to allot time to correct.

Joe has not been to the water cooler.

Sitting back in his chair, Nicky frowns at the clock in the bottom corner of the monitor. Twenty minutes is not enough time to complete any of his planned afternoon work. He could start something, but would have to stop for lunch. Unless he worked through lunch. But no, then he’d only get irritable. _More_ irritable.

Why would Joe not visit the water cooler today? He usually came by twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon. He’d tell anyone who would listen that he liked to take a break from the computer screens and stretch his legs.

Did Joe quit?

If Joe quit, Nicky will have to adjust his time management and find a twenty minute long project to fill the new empty spot. He’ll have to learn to live with the unpleasant sinking in his stomach that almost feels like... disappointment.

He should find out one way or another, he reasons. For the sake of his schedule. So he grabs a pile of paperwork that needs copying and heads out into the main hallway. He passes the water cooler, crossing from the cubicles to the offices, and remembers far too late that his pile of paperwork to copy is only so tall because the copy machine is still broken. Despite Nicky’s pleas the day before, the technician insisted he couldn’t visit their office until after noon.

The copier mocks him, usual green lights flashing red. _Paper jam_ , the touchscreen announces, white block letters on a red background. _Open tray and remove paper._ Someone replaced Nicky’s scribbled note with one written in black marker, _Out of Order_.

From the cubicles comes the chatter of one-sided phone calls. Sellers making sales. Accountants trying to reconcile uneven numbers, yelling at other accountants.

From the offices, the steady tap of keyboard presses and mouse clicks.

Overhead, the air conditioner breathes through a humming fan.

Nicky holds his pile of papers toward his chest and approaches the copier.

“It’s broken,” says a well-meaning co-worker, walking by with his coffee. He doesn’t stop for a reply, which is good, since the best Nicky could muster is a small apologetic shrug. He waits for the co-worker to disappear into an office. Then he waits a second more.

He takes one step back toward his cubicle, then berates himself for wasting his own time, and peers into Joe’s office.

Joe has his back to the door. The blinds are open this time, thank goodness, but even the blue sky beyond cannot compare to the vibrancy of the color splashes on Joe’s screen. His mouse is a paint brush, bringing forth images, fonts, and patterns in a flourish and dismissing them as quickly.

Headphones cover his ears. The straightness of his shoulders aligns with the back of his chair. He is intensely focused, lost to the rest of the world.

But he hasn’t quit. Not yet.

The sinking in Nicky’s stomach dissipates. Instead, he feels foolish.

Face burning, he rushes back to his cubicle and returns the pile of paperwork onto the corner of his desk. He straightens it.

He checks the clock. Ten minutes to lunch.

He waits.

*

The copier technician finds the paper jam easily enough, but the broken pencil is a different, more complicated matter. In the end, he disassembles half of the machine. It takes hours. At 4:30, Nicky’s co-workers are glaring every time they pass his cubicle. At 5, snide remarks start flying around the water cooler.

The administration staff cannot leave without making copies of their reports for Merrick and the other executives. Merrick likes hard copies, not emails. Nicky suspects he has them sent to a file cabinet and never looks at them. No, Merrick has already told them, emails will not be allowed ever, not even in this special case.

“I can’t have you getting lazy,” he told one co-worker, loud enough for the others to hear.

Merrick, himself, ducked out soon after. The other executives followed. They might have looked sheepish, if they looked at their employees at all. One carried a golf bag. It smacked against the side of Nicky’s cubicle as he walked by, knocking down the printed-out picture Nicky had pinned to the wall, the one of a cat hanging on a tree branch above the words, _Hang in there!_

To stop his co-workers plotting his murder, Nicky agreed to make copies of everyone’s reports, quadrupling the size of his already impressive pile of paperwork. Worth it, he knew, when his co-workers left with smiles and not glares.

At 7pm, the technician finally has the copier working again. Nicky catches him in the hallway.

“No more pencils,” Nicky says, trying to make light.

“Do whatever you want,” the technician replies, while texting on his phone. “This overtime means I get to charge double.” Laughter follows him to the front of the building. Nicky sighs. He really hopes Merrick doesn’t know his name. He imagines he’ll lose more than one paycheck to that bill if Merrick holds true to his threat to make Nicky pay for it.

With that worry heavy on his mind, Nicky collects his pile of paperwork and hauls it down the hallway.

Lights on the far walls begin to switch off, until only the lights over the main hallway and the small desk light in Nicky’s cubicle remain on. Being surrounded by so much darkness is unsettling. It’s quiet too – no phone calls, no click-clack of the keys. Only the air conditioner keeps him company, whirling overhead.

He loads the pile of papers into the input tray and starts the copier. It whistles and whines as the papers file through, and he sends up a quick prayer that the machine holds out long enough to finish his co-worker’s reports. And maybe his own.

Halfway through, Nicky notices one more light is still on in this building – the one in Joe’s office. Did he forget to turn it off? Nicky peeks inside.

The blinds are drawn. The screens are black. Joe is slumped in his chair, head crooked at an uncomfortable angle, chin resting on his shoulder. His lips are parted, mouth open, drool gathering at the corner. Each inhale couples with a soft snore.

If he sleeps like that the whole night through, he’ll be sore as hell in the morning.

Nicky should leave him, though. It’s not his business, and as far as he knows, Joe fell asleep on purpose.

Except his bare forearms have goosebumps and the overhead light is burning bright. Wouldn’t he have a blanket if he intended to sleep here? Wouldn’t he have turned off the light?

The copier seems to be working well, so Nicky abandons it and steps into Joe’s office. He walks softly at first, unsure, before he realizes how potentially creepy that is and stomps the rest of the way to Joe’s office chair, hoping he’ll wake up on his own. He doesn’t.

“Joe,” Nicky says.

No reaction.

“ _Joe_ ,” he says again, louder.

Joe snores in response. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks. His curls are wild, bouncing out in all directions. His lips lift softly at the edges, as if a good dream has entrapped him. He’s more than attractive, he’s... cute, in a way that startles Nicky, embarrassed, to action.

He places a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe. Wake up.”

“ _Nicky_ ,” Joe says, laughing, as he turns his head further into the chair. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Nicky freezes. His breath catches. He’s sure even his heart skipped a beat.

But Joe’s eyes are closed. He’s still sleeping.

“Brighter than the moonlight,” Joe says, words slurring. He sniffs. “Deeper than the ocean. I could drown,” he yawns, “looking at you.” He curls around his arms and snores again, louder.

There could be other Nicky’s with bright eyes, Nicky reasons, as his hands tremble and his heart thunders, alive in a way it has never been before.

Nicky should wake him, right? He should.

At the copier, paper whirls through the machine. It’s finished scanning now, and is stapling the sets. Nicky walks past, down the lonely lit corridor to his cubicle. He snatches his green jacket off the back of the chair. The outside is coarse, waterproof material, but the inside is soft cotton. He brings it back to Joe’s office. Carefully, he drapes the jacket over Joe like a blanket, tucking it under his arms.

“...if you... hold me...” Another snore.

“Joe,” Nicky says again, trying only once more to wake him. When Joe’s eyes do not open, Nicky sighs. “Sweet dreams, Yusuf.” He runs his hands down Joe’s covered arms, making certain the jacket is secure. At the door, Nicky clicks off the light.

When he returns to the copier, it has finished the reports. Nicky delivers them to the mailboxes of the executives.

He shivers all the way home, but he doesn’t mind, knowing Joe is warm.


	3. A Lot of Zeroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nicky returns to the office the next morning, a folded piece of paper sits, draped over the width of his keyboard. He places down his bag, shucks off the sweatshirt he wore today in place of his jacket, and lifts the paper. He opens it.
> 
> That is a lot of zeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments ;u; They mean so much. I'm thrilled you are enjoying the story!

When Nicky returns to the office the next morning, a folded piece of paper sits, draped over the width of his keyboard. He places down his bag, shucks off the sweatshirt he wore today in place of his jacket, and lifts the paper. He opens it.

It’s the copier technician’s bill, with a post-it note stuck over the due amount. Scribbled in loose cursive, the post-it reads, _Charge to Nicolo di Genova._ Frowning, Nicky lifts the post-it to see the amount it hides. He immediately wishes he hadn’t.

That is a lot of zeros.

Slowly his coworkers trickle in around him, and the office hums to life. 

Nicky lowers the bill, not totally sure what to do. That’s a full month’s pay. His chair creaks under his weight as he flops down, and a shot of panic surges through him. The last thing he needs is to break his chair as well. He’ll have to be more careful. He’ll have to -

How is he ever going to be able to pay this?

Elbows on the armrests, he drops his face into his hands. 

He doesn’t hear anyone enter his cubicle until they politely clear their throat.

Nicky tilts his head, fingers half-covering his face, and sees Joe standing at the opening of Nicky’s cubicle. Nicky’s green jacket is draped over one of his arms, and Joe stares down at it.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Nicky, but I was wondering if…” Joe glances up, and in a moment, his entire demeanor shifts, tightening. His shoulders straighten. His eyes widen with concern. “Are you alright? What’s happening?”

“What?” Nicky says, because how can he tell Joe - beautiful, talented Joe - that Nicky’s about to go bankrupt over a paper jam. 

“Forgive me.” Joe steps into the cubicle, and though a distance of two feet still separates them, Nicky feels immediate comfort from the closeness, and from the soft kindness of his words. “But you look as if the world is ending.”

Nicky thinks of lying, thinks of forcing a laugh and say he is fine. But something deep inside of his chest rejects the idea. He doesn’t want to lie to Joe.

Instead, Nicky plucks the folded slip of paper of his desk and passes it to Joe. Joe flips it open. He mouths the words on the post-it, and lifts it. The open concern on his face shifts abruptly to murder.

“Joe.” Nicky rises. He means to take the paper back, but Joe holds it in a tight grip, crinkling the edges.

“I’m going to speak to him,” Joe says.

Nicky imagines Joe throwing the paper in Merrick’s face and getting immediately fired. “It’s not a big deal,” Nicky says, though it is. It’s a lousy, terrible thing for an employer to do to an employee, and surely not _legal_. But Merrick doesn’t care about that, any of it, so long as he gets his way. “It’s not worth your time.”

For a moment, Joe lifts his eyes to Nicky, and somewhere between the paper and Nicky’s face, Joe’s gaze shifts from a harsh glare to utter softness.

“Oh, Nicolò. You are worth far more than you think.”

The words settle over Nicky like a warm blanket, and he wants to burrow in them. But he is not helpless, and will not have Joe thinking so. “I can fight my own battles.”

Joe shakes his head. “I owe you a service, for the one you gifted me last night.” He folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. When it is gone from view, Nicky takes a deeper breath than any since he walked into his cubicle and saw the paper sitting there.

Hands free, Joe removes the green jacket from his arm. “You saved my life last night.”

Light with relief, Nicky can’t help the small smile. “You were in no danger of dying.”

“It’s impossible to say now,” Joe mirrors his smile ten-fold. It’s blinding, like sunshine, and warms Nicky all over. Joe holds out the jacket. “Grazie, Nicolò.” As Nicky takes the jacket, Joe says, softer, “I mean it.”

Nicky dips his head, hiding his warming cheeks. “How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t.”

Nicky looks up. Joe’s gaze has softened impossibly further, into a fondness so alien to Nicky he’s stunned and silent.

And Joe says, “I hoped.”

* 

When the copier technician’s bill crosses Nicky’s desk again, much later in the day, it is properly labeled and marked for accounting, to be paid by check from the company’s funds.

Nicky continues his day’s work. On his phone, he loads his resume to a job search website, and, if he submits it to other ad agencies that also have openings for graphic designers, who would know but him?


	4. And Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you having to eat tonight?” Nicky asks.
> 
> Frowning, Joe waves to the take-out containers.  
>    
> Nicky’s stomach flips. “No,” he says, before he even realizes he’s spoken. When Joe blinks at him, Nicky trudges onward. “Do not eat that. I will bring you dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your wonderful comments ;u;

At the end of the day, Nicky tries to think of ways to more properly thank Joe for saving his bank account and, probably, his job. A handshake, perhaps? No, that’s not enough, and after the jacket incident, it would feel too formal. Perhaps an email? A curt nod?

Ug! He buries his fingers in his hair. Why is he so bad at this?

On a poster on the wall of his cubicle, the kitten clings to that tree branch. _Hang in there!_ If the kitten can do it, then surely he can -

A card! Decided, he turns back to his computer. He could try to make one by hand, but he lacks any artistic talent. The best he can do is adjust the word processor to print out a few clip-art designs in a way he can fold into a card. Nicky has to buy his own ink for the printer beneath his desk, but he doesn’t mind using it for this. He only wishes he splurged and bought color ink instead of only black.

After carefully folding the thin computer paper into a slightly lopsided, card-like shape, he fills in the boxy THANK YOU on the front with pink, yellow, and blue highlighters. Inside, beneath a smiley face, he writes his name: Nicolò.

Around him, his co-workers begin to leave. The clock on his monitor tells him it’s already ten after 5. Nicky grabs his card and his jacket and leaves his cubicle. Like wading upstream, he dodges his exiting co-workers, all headed the opposite way, as he makes his way past the water cooler and toward the offices.

He glares at the copier as he steps around it, and knocks his knuckles on the door frame to Joe’s office. 

Joe’s three monitors are on, two paused on different sections of what appears to be a commercial-in-progress. The third shows his email inbox. Joe is looking at none of them. Instead, he’s swiveled in his desk chair to the barren section of his L-shaped desk. He sketches something in a notebook. Under his desk, he’s kicked off his shoes.

At Nicky’s knock, he looks up, and those heavy bags under his eyes have only darkened since this morning, he visibly brightens when Nicky steps into the room.

“Have you been home since yesterday?” Nicky asks.

Joe glances to the side, like he’s thinking of a lie, but he quickly sighs and says, “I went home for a shower about 4 this morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

Joe waves to the take-out containers Nicky now sees wedged behind his monitors. There’s several days worth.

“You should go home,” Nicky says. “You’ll get sick like this.”

Joe shrugs. “It’s only until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” That doesn’t make sense. Nicky has seen the forecasted earnings for the next month, coupled with the designer-client meeting schedules. He knows Joe’s meeting with the Pharmaceutical company isn’t until next week. And even if Merrick convinced Joe to move it forward, _tomorrow_ is impossibly soon.

“Honestly, I thought I’d get far enough ahead last night to give me a break tonight but… things change.” He smiles up at Nicky, but it doesn’t hold.

_Things change_. What could have changed from yesterday to today?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Joe,” Nicky storms further into the room, coming right up to the edge of Joe’s desk. “Tell me you didn’t move up the schedule because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Joe says, but his eyes are soft and sad. He’s _lying_.

“ _Joe_.” Nicky clutches his pathetic card in both hands. It’s not enough. Not near enough.

“What Merrick wanted to do to you was wrong. If I could fix it by putting in another all-nighter, what does it matter?” He holds Nicky’s gaze, and that at least, is earnest. Which only makes Nicky feel worse. 

“But, Joe -”

“I did what I had to do, Nicky, and I’d do it again.” 

“But you didn’t _have to_.”

Joe laughs a little, under his breath. “I will always stay true to my heart.”

Nicky’s not sure what he means, so he doesn’t know how to argue. He looks down at his card. At the very least, he could have more carefully colored the letters inside the lines. Yet somehow, he knows Joe will still love it.

It’s not enough.

“What are you having to eat tonight?” Nicky asks.

Frowning, Joe waves to the take-out containers again. 

Nicky’s stomach flips. “No,” he says, before he even realizes he’s spoken. When Joe blinks at him, Nicky trudges onward. “Do not eat that. I will bring you dinner.”

Joe leans back in his chair. Those dark bags are barely visible now, with how bright his eyes are, like he just woke up to Christmas morning.

“Wait for me,” Nicky says, and all but throws his silly card at Joe.

Joe catches it with both hands. Nicky turns and leaves before he can see him read it.

*

Nicky, fortunately, has stew cooking in a crock pot since before work. He woke up early, restless from having heard Joe call his name in his sleep. To distract himself, he sliced carrots and potatoes and beef. He paced the length of his small kitchen, worrying over spices, trying not to think of Joe.

So, after rushing back to his apartment, he doesn’t have to worry about making anything new. He cooked enough for several days of leftovers, but he packs it all up now into five different containers, and puts them into an insulated thermal bag. He also throws in some napkins, two forks and a spoon, not knowing Joe’s preference. He grabs some waters from the fridge, a bag of fresh rolls from his pantry, and hurries out the door.

Back at the office, Joe has tacked Nicky’s ridiculous card onto the wall. He’s smiling at it when Nicky steps through the doorway.

“You’re back.” Joe turns that smile on Nicky, and Nicky trips a little on the carpet.

“I hope you like stew,” Nicky says, dropping his gaze to his feet so he can make it safety across the room.

“I love it.”

“Good. I brought you enough for several days.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Joe says.

Nicky opens the thermal bag. He pulls out one container and places it before Joe. He sets a second one beside it, for himself. He removes the napkins and the silverware, and sets the rest aside.

“Take my chair,” Joe tells him, standing. He slides it over before Nicky can refuse, then goes to retrieve a metal fold-out from against the wall.

“Joe -”

“Just sit, Nicky. You went to all this trouble.” Joe arranges the fold-out and sits. “I’ll be in that chair all night. It’s good to spice things up.”

Nicky could hardly see how sitting in a metal chair would ‘spice things up’ but he decides not to argue.

They remove the lids and dig into the food. At the first bite, Nicky’s pleased the stew is still hot. All thoughts fizzle, however, at the sound of Joe moaning delightedly.

Joe’s eyes flutter closed. After he swallows, he laughs. “Nicky, you have spoiled me. This is delicious! You must tell me which restaurant you bought this from. I will never eat anywhere else.”

Nicky’s face burns so hot, he might catch fire. “I made it.”

Joe’s gaze snaps to him. “You…?“ Surprise makes way to something else, something warmer, and for a moment, Nicky suspects Joe might hug him. Or maybe he just wants him to.

“Nicky,” Joe says. “I am convinced you are an angel.”

Nicky shakes his head. “If I was an angel, I wouldn’t have broken the copier.”

Joe grunts, like he doesn’t agree, but rather than argue, he returns to the stew.

They eat for a time, before Nicky wonders aloud.

“You surprised me, the other day,” Nicky says. “When you knew my name.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joe lowers his spoon. “You were introduced on your first day.”

Nicky remembers Merrick waving toward him unceremoniously as he stood by the water cooler on his first day. People stood in their cubicles and sat down immediately after. He hadn’t noticed anyone step out of the offices.

“That was a year ago,” Nicky says.

“I would never forget you.” Joe scoops fresh stew onto his spoon and brings it to his mouth. 

“But you never…” Nicky has no idea how to handle this new information. “We never…” He motions his fork between the two of them.

Joe lowers his chin, sheepish. “I thought of how to approach you a thousand times. But you are so…”

Oh. Nicky frowns. “Quiet.”

“No!” Joe leans forward. “Beautiful! That’s what I was going to say.”

Nicky blinks, too stunned to speak.

“I wanted to impress you, but I didn’t know how. I even tried to learn Italian, though work has been so… it’s been difficult to find time to do anything else.” Shaking his head, he sits back in the chair again. He lifts his spoon. “I’ve only learned a few words so far, but I will learn more. I’m determined.” Joe speaks with such confidence, Nicky believes him.

“Joe.” Nicky tries to find his voice. It feels important, to reply.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Nicky says. “The opposite.”

“Oh?”

Nicky swallows his nerves, takes a breath. “Joe, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

Joe’s cheeks tint red. His eyes sparkle, or maybe it’s the overhead light reflecting just right. What does it matter, with how lovely he looks when his lips part and he whispers, “Nicolò.“

If Nicky stays, he will kiss him, and if he kisses him, he will not stop. “I should leave you to your work.” Before hurt can settle on Joe’s face, Nicky reaches out and places his hand on Joe’s arm near the wrist. His thumb circles the fragile bones there. “The sooner you are finished, the sooner you can leave.”

Joe’s smile returns, a touch more devilish than before. “And then?”

Joe’s skin is warm under Nicky’s hand. All Nicky would have to do is lean a little closer and he could… They could…

He starts to. So does Joe.

But then Nicky snaps back, remembering, and makes himself pull away. He stands and moves around the chair, placing it between them. Yet even with the distance, the air sparks between them.

Nicky gives Joe a look. “And then.” 

Whatever Joe sees in his face has Joe popping out of his chair. “Nicky, stay.”

“You’ll never finish your work.”

“To hell with it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, and I…” He stops himself and sighs. “No. When my lips touch yours for the first time, it will not be in _this place_.”

The thrill of a kiss rushes up Nicky’s spine, and he shivers. “When this is done…” He sucks in a breath, steadying himself. “When this is done, we will meet, and then…”

Joe licks his lips. “And then.”


	5. Come Home With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe takes a strong step forward, into the cubicle. His hands reach out, searching - but then he catches himself and stops. He glances around, but no one is looking. He coughs in his fist.
> 
> “I was hoping,” he says, “that if you are free this evening, you would perhaps like to accompany me to dinner. And... if you would like... I would be pleased if you would...” He takes another step closer, smaller than the last. Voice low, he says, “Please come home with me,” sounding as desperate as Nicky feels.
> 
> "Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for your continued support. It means the world.

“I see you currently work at Merrick’s agency,” the interviewer says through the speakers of Nicky’s phone. He skipped lunch to sit out in his car in the parking lot and take this call.

At the start of the call, the interviewer introduced herself as Andy, CEO of the company, The Old Guard. The agency was much smaller than Merrick’s, employing only a handful of people. But their client list was lengthy and loyal. Their website said they’ve been around for many years.

“Yes,” Nicky says, unsure how much to give away.

“You poor bastard,” she said. “What are you making there?”

Nicky blinks at her language and her forward question, but still tells her.

“I’ll give you double,” she says. “When can you start?”

Nicky sits back in the driver’s seat, temporarily rendered speechless. He’d never had an interview go so well, so quickly. “I would need two weeks, to break cleanly here.”

“You got it.”

“And...” Nicky hesitates. If he asks what he wants to ask, he risks looking unprofessional and potentially losing this absolutely amazing job offer. Joe can handle himself. He surely has job offers lined around the block. But. Still. “I have a friend.” Nicky pauses, unsure how to proceed. Andy waits, and Nicky knows he likes her. Unlike Merrick, she offers him patience. “He is a graphic designer.”

“Oh,” Andy says. “Look, Nicky, we already have a good crew here, except for a numbers guy. We’re like a family.”

“Oh.” Nicky fights to hide his disappointment. “I see.”

“I know Merrick has snagged a lot of good people, but...” She laughs. “Unless it’s Yusuf al-Kaysani, I couldn’t possibly convince the rest of the team to take on another designer.”

Nicky goes very quiet.

Andy notices. “Wait. _Is_ it Yusuf al-Kaysani? Nicky? Are you still there?”

“I haven’t talked to him about it yet,” Nicky says, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t expected to put Joe’s name out there without asking. He’d only meant to see if the option is available.

“Listen, Nicky, the offer’s open for you either way. Think about it. Call me next week. Swing by the office and meet the team. In the meantime, talk to al-Kaysani. If he wants in, we’ll fit another desk in here somewhere.”

Someone in the background says, “We’ll _what?_ ”

“Don’t make that face, Booker,” she says. “Bye, Nicky.” She hangs up.

Nicky stares at the call-ended screen on his phone. What a strange interview. But a good offer. And if Joe...

No, he won’t get ahead of himself.

He gets out of his car, puts his phone into his pocket, and tries not to think about any of this for the rest of the day.

*

Joe gives his presentation behind closed doors somewhere on the executive floor, but Nicky knows it goes well when a sizeable check from the Pharmaceutical company crosses his desk.

"Good job, Joe,” Nicky says, pride swelling, and readies the check for the bank.

*

“There you are, Nicky,” Joe says, appearing at the entrance of Nicky’s cubicle at the end of the day. His voice is a shot of warmth through Nicky’s chest, and Nicky immediately abandons what’s left of the day’s work to swivel in his chair and face him.

“Hello, Joe.”

Joe’s eyes flutter closed. He places a hand over his heart. “Say it again.”

“Hello?”

Joe smiles. “My name.”

“Oh.” Nicky’s face burns, but he’s smiling, too. He can’t seem to help himself around Joe. “Hello. _Joe_.”

Joe takes a strong step forward, into the cubicle. His hands reach out, searching - but then he catches himself and stops. He glances around, but no one is looking. He coughs in his fist.

“I was hoping,” he says, “that if you are free this evening, you would perhaps like to accompany me to dinner. And... if you would like... I would be pleased if you would...” He takes another step closer, smaller than the last. Voice low, he says, “Please come home with me,” sounding as desperate as Nicky feels.

"Yes.”

“Oh.” Joe’s smile expands, blinding. “ _Molto bene_.”

Nicky turns and shuts down his computer properly. He sets his unfinished work in a pile to complete first thing the next time he’s in the office. Then he grabs his jacket and still-full lunch bag and follows Joe out of the cubicle and the building.

Joe leads him to his sports car in a nearby spot. It’s beautiful, silver, and sleek, fast-looking. Nicky frowns at it.

Andy’s offer to Nicky is generous, but would a small company like The Old Guard be willing, or able, to match Joe’s exorbitant salary?

“Nicky?”

“Forgive me.” Nicky shakes his head. This is not the place for that conversation.

Joe gives him a worried look, like he wants to press, but Nicky stops him by promising, “I will tell you later.”

Joe opens the car and Nicky slides into soft leather. Joe sits down in the passenger side and immediately yawns. In the natural light, the bags under his eyes are dark and prominent. All of him, beneath his smile, seems to droop. He’s all but melting into a puddle in the leather.

“Joe. Perhaps I should drive.”

Joe rubs his eyes. “Maybe.” Another yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired all of the sudden.”

“I do,” Nicky says. “Two sleepless nights in a row. Perhaps more.” Nicky has suspicions.

Joe huffs a sleepy laugh. “Maybe.”

“Come on.” Nicky holds his hand out for the keys, and Joe gives them over. They switch seats and click their seat-belts.

Nicky turns the ignition, bringing the car to life with a loud purr. He sets it in reverse, but then considers something, and puts it into park again. “I don’t know where you live.” He waits. “Joe?”

Joe is slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed. His chest rises and falls in long steady breaths.

Nicky’s heart leaps into his throat. How much Joe must trust Nicky to hand him the keys and fall immediately asleep. How tired he must be.

Nodding to himself, Nicky sets the car in reverse again and pulls out of the parking spot. He drives the fancy car the few blocks to his apartment building and pulls into the visitor spot.

With the car parked and the engine turned off, Nicky rounds to the passenger side and opens the door.

“Joe.” He places his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, help me. We’re at my apartment. It’s just a few stairs.”

Joe grumbles, reactive at least, thank goodness. Nicky has already learned how deeply Joe sleeps.

“I’m not sure I can carry you.” Nicky reaches across and unbuckles Joe’s seat belt.

Joe drops his head forward, forehead pressing into Nicky’s shoulder. “You’re so warm,” he mumbles.

“I’ll be even warmer upstairs.”

Joe hums, and moves just enough to help Nicky drag him to his feet. Nicky pulls his arm around his shoulder and leads him to the stairwell, locking the car behind them. The stairs are a struggle, but they manage. Nicky leans Joe against the wall as he opens his apartment door.

“I think I need a nap,” Joe says, blinking slowly. “Just a quick one... I don’t want to miss...”

“Hey.” Nicky catches him before he can fall asleep against the brick wall.

They stumble into Nicky’s small apartment and Nicky leads Joe into the bedroom and to the double-size bed. He eases Joe down and then bends to take off his shoes.

“I’m sorry.” Joe rubs his eyes, but can’t seem to keep them open. “I’m ruining our first date.”

“It’s not ruined,” Nicky says. “Would you like some pajamas?”

Grumbling incoherently, Joe reaches for his shirt and pulls it off over his head.

All of the air suddenly disappears from the room. Nicky suspected Joe is all muscle, but to have it suddenly on display, so very near before him - in his _bedroom_.

He looks away. Glances back. Looks away again.

“How about a t-shirt?” he says and standing, rushes to his dresser. He digs through the second drawer down, searching for his most comfortable sleeping shirt. When he has it, he faces the bed again, just in time to see Joe kick off his pants.

Joe is, at least, blessedly, wearing underwear.

Still, fire pulses through Nicky’s veins. Joe is beautiful, inside and out. Nicky swallows the rising lump in his throat and approaches the bed.

Bunching the t-shirt, Nicky begs Joe to lift his arms so he can put it on. Joe complies, sitting up enough for Nicky to pull it down and cover those pecs and those abs. He immediately flops back down and starts to snore.

More than anything, Nicky wants to join him. He looks so peaceful and content, and bends his body around a perfectly Nicky-shaped emptiness. With those arms around him, Nicky just knows he would feel warm and safe all night through.

But then his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he skipped lunch. He can’t skip dinner, too. Besides, when Joe wakes up, he’ll be hungry. Nicky will be a lousy host if he doesn’t have food ready for his guest.

On the way to the kitchen, he glances back once, from the door, to Joe sleeping soundly in his bed. And for the first time in a very long time, everything feels right.


	6. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Joe?”
> 
> “Nicky.” Joe’s voice is sleep rough and beautiful. Even in the dark, the eyes radiate concern. “What are you doing out here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and liking and commenting. I am absolutely thrilled to share this journey with you. Thank you for the support, and I'll see you in the next one! :)

The clock on the living room wall reads midnight. The television, muted, begins the same infomercial for the third time. It’s a rotisserie oven but also an air fryer. If you call now, you get a free oven mitt.

Sitting on the sofa, Nicky glances at the closed bedroom door. He stifles a yawn.

He wants more than anything to go into the bedroom, crawl into bed beside Joe, and fall asleep, but Joe has been so out of it since they left work. He is in no position to consent to sharing a bed. 

Instead, Nicky pulls the afghan off the back of the couch and tries to make himself comfortable on the too-short cushions. At twenty, this position would have been no problem, and he’d wake refreshed regardless. At thirty-five, with his knees bent at such an odd angle, he knows he’s in for hell and bengay in the morning. Still, thinking of Joe, safe and warm, tucked away in Nicky’s bed, gives Nicky the foolish, happy hope that everything will be fine.

Maybe that’s an effect of love, he thinks, and closes his eyes.

They snap open again when a hand touches his shoulder. The infomercial continues. The air-fryer is also a barbecue, somehow. The blue television light gleams a harsh outline around a head of curls that’s slowly coming into focus.

“Joe?”

“Nicky.” Joe’s voice is sleep rough and beautiful. Even in the dark, the eyes radiate concern. “What are you doing out here?”

Nicky blinks. “Sleeping?”

Joe looks at him, searching for something Nicky’s unsure of. Then he frowns. “I can leave…?”

“What?” Nicky snaps upright. His knees ache, but he ignores the pain to twist on the couch and reach for Joe. His hands find his biceps and the muscles underneath that Nicky’s favorite sleep-shirt struggles to contain. Nicky looks down, at the t-shirt - at _Joe_ in his t-shirt, kneeling on the floor, in the dark. Any coherent thought becomes dust blowing away under the breeze of the ceiling fan.

“Or not,” Joe says, still watching him. He places a hand on Nicky’s side, just above his hip. All of Nicky’s nerves zero in on that touch, on the press of each finger, the line of Joe’s thumb against Nicky’s bottom rib.

“Stay,” Nicky manages to say, or he hopes he does. He can’t tell anymore because Joe is leaning toward him and what else matters but that?

“Why are you out here, Nicky?” Joe says, each word a puff of warm breath against Nicky’s cheek, his lips. Close, so close.

“You were asleep.”

Joe smiles, and Nicky knows for certain that his heart is no longer his own.

“I’m not sleeping now,” Joe says.

“This could be a dream.” Though the dull throb in Nicky’s cramp knee tells otherwise.

“No,” Joe says. With his other hand, he cups Nicky’s face, palm against his cheek, thumb lining his cheekbone, fingertips brushing against his ear. “You are so much more than anything I could dare dream.”

“Joe.” Nicky claws at that old t-shirt, pulling Joe closer.

“I want to kiss you, Nicky. May I?”

“ _Per favore_.”

Joe coaxes Nicky forward and Nicky tugs Joe. Lips find lips in the dark, and suddenly, _finally_ , they are kissing. Passion strikes hot, an electric zap through Nicky’s body that has him surging forward. Nicky wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders, his neck. His hands bury into those curls. They are soft and wild, everything _Joe_ , everything Nicky imagined.

Joe tilts his head, deepening their kiss. He licks his way into Nicky’s mouth. His arms wrap around Nicky’s waist, holding him close. One hand splays flat at the small of Nicky’s back. The other traces feather-light patterns up and down Nicky’s spine.

“Joe,” Nicky breathes, when they break for air. “ _Yusuf.”  
_

Joe’s chest heaves as much as Nicky’s own. His eyes are dark and his lips kiss-swollen. He makes a noise very near a growl as he plunges in for more.

The next breath, Joe offers, “ _Nicolò_ ,” and this time, it’s Nicky who growls. He pushes further into Joe and they tumble back onto the floor. Nicky’s on top of Joe now, and the new angle is perfect. And they can _move_.

Joe’s not wearing pants and Nicky has too many clothes. Joe’s tugging at his shirt, but it’s useless. They would have to break apart to undress, and Nicky would rather shoot himself into the moon than separate from Joe for that long.

Never in his life has he felt like this, not even as a horny teenage pawing at his first boyfriend in the backseat of a car. Nicky _wants_ , but not just to get himself off, like his teenage self. He wants to feel Joe tremble, to hear him moan - to give him the kind of pleasure and happiness and comfort and love that a man so wonderful deserves. He wants to be his best self. He wants to be everything Joe needs.

He _wants_.

“Nicolò,” Joe pants, again and again, when their lips are parted enough for him to do so. Nicky drops kiss after kiss down the side of his neck. “Oh, Nicolò.” He grips at Nicky’s shirt, it’s bunched under Nicky’s arms now, and begs, “Be mine. Please be mine.”

Nicky stills in his onslaught and lifts his head.

Joe’s eyes are hooded. His lips, red and parted. He looks ravished and perfect and lovely. How can he not understand?

“I’m already yours, Yusuf,” Nicky says. “I’ve been yours since I first heard you laugh at the water cooler. I just didn’t know it then.”

Something in Joe’s face shifts - still lost to lust, but softening. The urgency in his hands slows. He moves deliberately now, cupping Nicky’s face and bringing him down for a gentle kiss. 

“I will be kind with your heart,” Joe tells him.

Nicky twists his face as much as Joe’s hold will allow. He glances down, away, embarrassed. “I know.”

“And I will beg you to be kind with mine.”

Nicky’s gaze snaps back to Joe’s growing smile.

“You have owned my heart since the moment I saw you, Nicolò.”

Nicky’s breath abandons him. His heart races, thumping so loud and hard, Nicky’s sure it will jump straight from his chest and into Joe’s, where it belongs.

The floor isn’t enough. Not for the power of their love. Not for their first time together.

Nicky still wants, but now he wants Joe in comfort on a bed, as open and vulnerable and _safe_ as Nicky feels. He pushes himself up to his knees.

“Come with me to the bedroom?” Nicky asks.

“Nicky,” Joe says, rising. “I would follow you anywhere.”

They leave the living room and the ceiling fan and the infomercials and a trail of clothes behind. Nicky closes the bedroom door and starts the rest of his life.

*

It’s Saturday. The sun beams in through Nicky’s thin curtains and beats on the foot of the bed. Nicky glances at the bedside table, at the clock that reads 7am. He won’t move more than that though. He won’t risk disrupting the sleeping man curled around him like an octopus.

A beard scratches Nicky’s chest. Curls tickle his chin.

He can’t wait for Joe to wake up, to hear his voice and see his eyes, but seeing him like this is a blessing too. He’s warm and relaxed. He talks no less asleep in a bed as he did in a chair, though this time Nicky knows with certainty that Joe means him when he mumbles, “You are everything, Nicky.”

Soon, Joe does wake. He lifts his head, blinking a few times. When his gaze falls on Nicky, his smile widens so big and bright, he puts the sun to shame.

“This is the best bed I’ve ever slept in,” he says. Before Nicky can argue - he bought this bed on extreme discount, and the springs are starting to poke through in some places - Joe continues, “It has _you_ in it.”

Nicky laughs, and Joe does, too. Slowly, through lazy kisses, they untangle from each other and the sheets. When Joe’s stomach growls, Nicky pulls him toward the kitchen.

“Stay,” he says, and places Joe in a bar stool by the kitchen island.

“Happily.” Joe sets his elbow on the counter and his chin in his palm. He openly leers at Nicky, who perhaps should have put more on than a pair of boxers. He wants to take Joe back into the bedroom, but _no_. Joe is _hungry_ , and Nicky will not have him starved.

Nicky retrieves the eggs from the fridge and a pan from the cabinet and sets to making scrambled eggs. He glances back often, catching the exact moment when Joe’s dark gaze shifts. A line forms between his brow instead.

“You don’t like scrambled eggs?” Nicky asks, lifting the pan away from the burner. He should have asked first.

“No, I do. It’s fine,” Joe says.

“Then why the face?”

“What face? This is my face.”

Nicky frowns at him until he relents.

“Okay, fine.” Joe sighs. “You win. I’m worried about…” Another sigh. “What are we, Nicky?”

Nicky frowns deeper. He thought they made it clear last night. Was Joe having second thoughts? Turning back to the eggs, he pushes them around the pan with a spatula.

“We don’t have to be anything,” he hears himself say. It’s breaks his own heart - he wants everything with Joe. But if he can’t have everything, he’d rather have _something_ than nothing.

“We… don’t?”

“We could keep doing this,” Nicky says. “We don’t have to complicate it.” He wants to complicated it. He _wants_ Joe, body, heart, and soul. He pushes the eggs.

“I see.”

“Whatever you want, Joe.”

“What I want?”

Joe isn’t saying anything. Nicky keeps making offers and Joe’s just repeating them. If he’s going to break Nicky’s heart, he’d rather he do it before breakfast. The coffee’s not even ready yet and -

Nicky takes the eggs off the burner. He places them down on a separate, cooler part of the stove and swivels. He has his mouth open, ready to beg Joe for _something_ , _anything_. But then he sees his own look of absolute heartbreak mirrored on Joe’s face.

And he curses those eggs for distracting him.

“Or we could be more,” Nicky says.

Joe lifts a little, from where he’s curled into himself. “More?”

Nicky swallows. He’s afraid, so afraid, to let himself hope to have this, but it’s everything he wants. And after everything they’ve shared, surely there’s a chance that Joe wants it too.

So Nicky takes a breath and lays himself bare.

“I want to be with you, Joe. As your boyfriend. Your lover. Your partner. However you will have me. In every way you will have me.”

Joe stares at him a long moment, expression blank. Then he steps off the bar stool and comes around the island. His eyes are wet and bright and shining, and he’s looking at Nicky like he is personally responsible for all the good in the world and not just the few words spoken from the heart.

Joe wraps his arms around Nicky and kisses him, tenderly, a balm coating the wounds of misunderstanding.

“Boyfriends. Lovers. Partners. Everything,” Joe says, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Everything,” Nicky says.

Their kisses now are gentle, kind - echoes of thousands of kisses to follow, each full of love and light and safety and comfort. And sometimes lust, too, as Nicky urges Joe’s lips to part enough for -

Joe’s stomach growls and Nicky jumps away like he burned him.

What a terrible host he is!

Joe reaches for him but Nicky shies away.

“You need to eat,” Nicky says and returns the eggs to the hot burner. Nicky half-turns only to point his spatula at the empty stool. “Sit.”

Joe, laughing, obeys. “Okay, okay.”

When the eggs are done, and Nicky is separating the portions onto two plates, Joe says, “We’ll have to talk to HR on Monday. Since we are together.”

Nicky freezes. Being with Joe, he had entirely forgotten about work and The Old Guard and Andy’s offer. “Joe,” he says and sets down the empty pan. 

“Hm?”

Nicky takes the plates and turns. He places one in from of Joe. Compared to the bravery of the past day, talking to Joe about this should be easy, but Nicky is no less nervous when he says, “Have you ever thought of leaving Merrick’s?”

Joe snorts a laugh. “All the time!”

“What if…” Nicky hesitates, thinking of Joe’s sports car. “What if it was a smaller company? The pay probably isn’t…”

“Nicky.” Joe reaches out and places his hand on Nicky’s. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Nicky huffed out a breath. That’s right. Joe is his boyfriend now, and boyfriends don’t keep secrets. They trust each other. “I was offered another job.”

Joe perks immediately, sitting high on his chair. A smile spreads wide. “That’s wonderful, Nicky!”

“Thank you. I…” Another breath. “When I was interviewing, I mentioned that I might know a graphic designer who… Well, Merrick was treating you so terribly and I wanted to see if… just to give you options.”

Joe’s smile softens. He hums a little, like he’s considering. “What did they say?”

“I didn’t mean to say it was you, but Andy knew somehow. She said, ‘if it’s Yusuf al-Kaysani.’”

Joe shakes his head. “Andy? Andromache? Are you talking about The Old Guard?”

“Um. Yes.”

Joe sits back on the stool. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. “ _The_ Old Guard?”

Nicky looks to his left and right, searching for an answer to a question he thought he already answered. “Yes?”

Joe’s brow furrows but he’s still smiling and Nicky is so very confused.

“They’ll take us both?” Joe says.

“Yes.”

Abruptly, Joe laughs. He bounces off the stool, comes around the island again, and pulls Nicky into a tight bear hug that lifts him clear off the ground.

“Nicky, that’s -! I can barely believe it! The Old Guard!” He’s laughing and spinning. Nicky, holding on, laughs too, delighted by Joe’s happiness even if he doesn’t entirely understand it. When he finally lowers Nicky, he says, “What a dream. To have you, Nicky, and a job offer from Andromache herself in one day.”

“Do you know her?” Nicky asks.

“Know her? She is legend.” Joe takes both of Nicky’s hands and kisses along the knuckles. “The Old Guard is famous world-wide, their work is unparalleled, and they are notoriously difficult to join. No one ever leaves. Oh, Nicky, you have given me so many gifts today. I think I might burst with happiness!”

Nicky had no idea The Old Guard is so famous. “So you’ll come with me?”

“I said I would follow you anywhere.”

“Yes, but -”

Joe kisses him. “I mean it, Nicky. Anywhere. And this is no hardship, believe me.”

By the time they remember breakfast, the eggs have gone cold. Nicky tries to make something else, but Joe, impatient, scarfs down the cold eggs and then leads Nicky back to the bedroom where they stay for most of the day.

“I must show my appreciation,” Joe says, following Nicky onto the bed. He reaches for Nicky’s boxers, and begins to slide them down.

“You don’t have to.”

“Oh, Nicky. I _want_ to.”

*

The Old Guard has an open concept office. Desks and paperwork are strewn around in minor chaos. A kitchen sits in the far back corner, counter covered in too many take-out counters. Nicky immediately begins making plans for group meals.

Andy introduces the team: Nile, Booker, Quynh, and Lykon. 

When Nicky and Joe tell her they’re dating, she rolls her eyes and says, “No, shit.” She tells them, “No sex in the office,” and that is that.

Nicky sits at his desk on wide side of the office and Joe on the other. They can see each other across the room. Joe catches his eye and winks.

Booker groans. Nile reaches over her desk and smacks him upside the head.

They’re chaotic but talented and friendly and fair. And when Andy stops by his desk to tell him, “Welcome to the family,” Nicky believes she means it. And it starts to feel like home.

*

“I never thought I’d find this,” Nicky says later, as he cuts open the tape on Joe’s last box. Joe’s jackets hang on the pegs near the door, beside Nicky’s. His clothes sit with Nicky’s in the drawers of their now-shared dresser.

“Love?” Joe asks from where he’s placing some of his books on the bookcase.

“ _Everything_.” 

Joe leaves what remains of the books in a pile and abandons the shelf to come to Nicky. He pulls Nicky into his arms. Nicky hooks his chin over Joe’s shoulder.

“I hate Merrick,” Nicky says, “But how can I not be grateful? If not for that job, I might not have found you.”

Joe tsks. “We would have found each other, Nicky. My heart knew you before I did. I would never have stopped searching until I found you.”

Though they have been together for several months now, Joe’s words still send Nicky’s heart racing as no other could.

“Like destiny?” Nicky asks.

Joe turns enough to kiss the shell of Nicky’s ear. “Destiny is not enough.”

Nicky laughs, delighted. “You incurable romantic.”

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

Nicky pulls away, enough to look at Joe - beautiful, happy, well-rested and well-fed. His love. His lover. His forever. 

“Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
